Everyday Life

Flipping through Pinterest this week, I could feel my anxiety growing.

I love looking at all the cool ideas–all the possibilities and creativity–why the sudden gnawing in my stomach?

I realized that this is what currently surrounded me:

photo (19)

photo (15)

Reality was pressing in tightly. My “normal” life was ever present. My home is not pleasantly Pinterest all the time.

C and I have been talking a lot about fantasy versus reality recently. It seems like our entire culture is obsessed with living in a fantasy. And when reality hits, we don’t know how to cope. This is a problem.

As my daughter learned last week at camp: “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

Ah, comparison. . . isn’t that what it all comes down to? I’m comparing this:

to this:

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A year ago, after I spent days painting that striped wall, I could not have been more proud. I loved every thing about it. Today, that pride is ebbing.

I do not want comparison to steal my joy. But I have to fight for it.

When comparison is threatening to get the best of me, I am trying desperately to embrace my everyday life. I am asking Jesus to allow me to love our unfinishedness, our not-quite-rightness, our chaos.

It’s in my unfinishedness that I long for the work of the Father.

It’s in my not-quite-rightness that I long for Jesus’ healing hand.

It’s in chaos that I long for Peace.

So I clicked off Pinterest. In fact, I closed my computer.

I got up and walked around and said thank you for the kids whose clothes I still need to put away.

photo (16)

And I said thank you for the guest room, with bare, uncreative walls and bed full of loved American Girl clothes waiting to be stored for the next generation.

photo (18)Thank you for yellow placemats, adrift on my table, that remind me of the color of the sun.

Thank you for red Italian pottery, sitting on the counter, waiting to find its home.

Thank you for my everyday. Thank you, Father, for blessing my socks off and ripping my eyes of what could be to see what very much is.

I am so grateful.


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